The First Night
by WeAreJorus
Summary: Putting one foot in front of the other has never taken this level of effort before. I'm not sure why I'm so nervous. But I'm resoundingly overcome. As I turn the handle and push open the heavy door, a dozen pairs of eyes rush to meet me. The words leave my lungs in a whoosh. "I'm a father."


The First Day

A Fifty Shades one-shot by WeAreJorus

~oOo~

Putting one foot in front of the other has never taken this level of effort before.

The papery sheath crackles as it rubs over my shirt, the netted fabric over my shoes shushes and glides over the linoleum. I'm not sure why I'm so nervous. But I'm resoundingly overcome. As I turn the handle and push open the heavy door, a dozen pairs of eyes rush to meet me.

The words leave my lungs in a whoosh. "I'm a father."

My expression must leave much to the imagination, for after a beat, the edge of joy that claimed the waiting room's occupants still hangs in the air. _Oh… right…_ "We have a son. Ana's doing fine."

They rush me all at once, my family… her family… our friends… those who well know my apprehension with contact… but today, it doesn't register. I left my heart and soul behind in the recovery room.

My mother wants details, my sister demands photographic proof and vital statistics, her father only wants reassurance. Her mother… it appears her flight hasn't arrived yet.

"It's very late, and they both need their rest… If you all would come back to visit in the morning, that might be better," I insist. My sister groans.

My mother assures the others that this isn't an unreasonable request. Thank you, Mom, for being a doctor… if only to reliably placate the masses.

The return trip is a bit lighter.

Only a dim illumination over her bed and the computer screen nearby holds back complete darkness from the suite. A nurse adjusts Ana's IV, and another fusses over the clear bassinet. I'm torn… a new emotion. I've never had to choose between my wife and another before, until today. And if I had, I would have chosen the former, without question. The thought makes me uneasy. Ana's eyes are closed.

"How is she?" I ask softly, moving to stand over my son, and nodding toward my wife.

"She's fine, Mr. Grey. Fell asleep just after you left."

My son grasps my finger in his tiny fist… I hadn't realized I'd reached for him. The nurse unwraps his coverings; he's sparsely coated in bits of dried blood and membrane. His little mouth opens in what can only be surprise, I can only imagine how chilled he must be, after all he's spent the entirety of his life to this point in a temperature-regulated bag of goo.

"I was about to bathe him, would you like to watch?"

I nod, and the nurse smiles. My son continues his grip on my finger as the nurse… the embroidery on her scrubs reads _Leslie_… lifts him to slide his blanket from underneath him, replacing it with some sort of absorbent pad. She's very gentle with him. I'm amazed he isn't crying, barely complaining… just a small whimper here and there.

I could gaze at him every moment for the rest of my life.

I tear my eyes away for just a moment. Ana rests unmoving, fast asleep, the monitor next to her reading steady vitals. _She's fine,_ I remind myself. _She's been well taken care of._ The other nurse has disappeared. I hadn't seen her go.

"Normally we'd have the new mommy lie skin-to-skin with him after his bath," Leslie says softly, fastening a diaper, "But as she's already sleeping, I'll set up a warming blanket for him."

"Can I do it?" _Hang on… do I even know what I'm asking?_

Leslie looks at me strangely; her eyes travel up and down. I see the wheels spin for a second, and then she shakes it off. "Of course. That would be fine."

I pull off the paper shirt, unsure why I hadn't before now, and take down the buttons underneath. Leslie directs me to the rocker beside Ana's bed and settles my son against my skin, and drapes a soft flannel blanket over him. "If you need anything, press the blue button on Mrs. Grey's bed."

I'm too distracted to see her go.

My heart picks up, thrumming at the contact. It isn't unpleasant, just… unexpected. My son's tiny body fidgets against me, his little hands flexing. He's so light, barely there… but ever present. His little head turns, his cheek settles against my chest, and he heaves a contented sigh.

My God, I never thought I'd love another so much.

And yet, there are moments I'm left feeling dazed and numb. Flynn would later tell me that it's the mind's way of handling an overload of new emotions, that upon reaching the limit, it's normal to feel dazed and immune. I breathe deeply through the sensation, willing the feeling to wear off, and after a time, it does. My eyes find my son's.

"Hello," I whisper. "I'm your Dad." My throat tightens at the admission, and I swallow, willing the tears away. "I'm the guy who's been talking to you, playing music for you, making your mommy eat right for you." I sigh. "I'm not really sure where we go from here," I tell him. "I know you don't understand what I'm telling you, and that's all right. I only want you to know me. I'm the guy who's going to protect you, teach you, keep you safe, whether you want me to or not." I press a soft kiss to his head, minding the soft spot. "I love you so much."

I'm not aware that I've dozed off with him until I feel his little body squirm. He lets out a shrill wail, and I'm drawn rather violently from unconsciousness. My first instinct is that I've done something to hurt him. I reach for the blue button.

"How are we doing in here?" A new nurse pokes her head in.

"I fell asleep with him, his crying woke me," I admit, guiltily. "Is he all right?" I permit her to take him from me, and she peeks into the diaper and then expertly swaddles him in the blanket. I follow, absently buttoning my shirt.

"He's hungry. Does your wife have plans to breastfeed?"

"She'd like to, but her doctor said something about allowing the medications to leave her system first," I say.

"No problem." She holds my son a bit like a football, reaching up into a cabinet and retrieving what looks like a miniature barbell. At closer scrutiny, I notice it has increments along one side. She pops off the top and one-handedly attaches a nipple. "Hold him like this."

She directs me to cradle him high in one arm and inverts the bottle. "Keep the tip down. Only thirty milliliters."

My son is an expert at feeding, it seems. My soul swells with relief. Even in the dim light of the suite, I can see his eyes tracking my face.

"Know how to burp him?" She's a little loud for my liking. Mercifully, Ana sleeps on.

I nod. Fortunately… or unfortunately, depending on whether you ask my wife or I… I'd been dragged against my will to attend infant care classes. Only now am I seeing the value in such lessons.

"Great, I'll leave you to it."

I see repeated use of the blue button in my future.

Thirty milliliters later, I reluctantly pop the nipple from his mouth. His little lips continue working, the white residue lingering on his tongue. I'm dazed and enchanted again, watching him. My mother said something about appreciating the simple things in life… I now understand what she meant.

I awkwardly, and very carefully, bring him to my shoulder, and pat him softly on the back, trying to gauge the taps for effectiveness. The wetness that subsequently soaks into my shirt is evidence of success. So why does it feel… and smell… like failure?

_Junior, 1. New father, zip._

The blue button can't help me with this one.

I poke my head into the semi-deserted hallway. "Taylor," I hiss. It's not so much a name as a command, in this case, more of a request. And a request to minimize humiliation. He follows me into the suite.

Ana remains blissfully unaware.

"I need you to check the car for a spare shirt," I admit. He blinks at me. _Oh, please don't make me say it._

Then I remember the little bundle at my shoulder. Well, I never forgot… only that he's a newcomer to this relationship. I tentatively, awkwardly, and ever-carefully turn him to cradle in my left arm. My right-hand man smirks. "I had Gail include a change of clothes for you in Mrs. Grey's suitcase. Thought you might need it."

Of course, he'd know exactly what to do. He's done this before. Once again, Jason Taylor proves just why I pay him so fucking much.

"Good thinking," I nod, swallowing. "Don't tell Ana."

"Tell her what, sir?" He mutters, conspiratorially.

I resist the urge to chuckle. "Incidentally, this is Theodore." I turn my eyes to my son, whose eyelids are heavy with sleep.

"Ah, your grandfather's name. Handsome boy, sir. Congratulations."

"The compliments go to Mrs. Grey, she did all the work." I snort. "She wants to call him Teddy."

"Well, whatever you decide to call him, you may want to change him as well."

"Hmm?" I raise my eyebrows.

Taylor gestures to my son. "May I?"

I blink. Hell, I trust this man with my life. I might as well trust him with my son… and besides, he's done this before. He expertly maneuvers the bundle to his massive hands. Well, compared to my boy, everything around him is massive.

"There's a good little fella," Taylor… _coos? Shit, did I sound like that when I spoke to my son?_ I follow them to the sectional. He places Theodore on one of the cushions and skillfully unwraps him… I see why. He didn't only throw up on me.

He reaches for the diaper bag and one-handedly unzips the main compartment, as though he'd packed it himself. Perhaps he was there when Gail packed it… _whatever_. He has a wealth of experience with Sophie, I'm sure. _Watch, learn, and be humbled, Grey_.

He pulls out a blue… something. And hands it to me.

"Is this a… dress?"

"A sleeper, sir."

I gulp. "It looks like a fucking dress."

"A _fudging_ dress, sir."

"What?"

"Uh… never mind." He pulls the blanket away, eliciting a complaint from my son. "Diapers?"

"Um… here, I think." I swivel the bag around, unzipping another compartment. No, those are the spit-rags I should have accessed before burping him. The next one over has an assortment of mouth-plugs… Mia calls them "binkies." The end holds spare bottles. The other side… _yes, here they are_.

Taylor releases the tabs on the diaper.

_Sweet mother of God. _"What in hell _is_ that?" I quickly remember myself and lower my voice, my eyes flashing to Ana for a second. "What in hell is that?" I say again.

"First movement. A bit like tar, but it's harmless." He hands me a wipe.

He must be joking. They didn't cover this in the class. Perhaps that was the day of the Westech acquisition, I spent quite a bit of that class sorting through human stupidity over the phone…

Taylor looks at me expectantly. _Goddamnit, I didn't sign up for this level of nasty._ Theodore's protests resume. I reach for the wipe.

"Lift his bottom by his feet, that's right, sir." Coached by my subordinate… I've reached a new tier of humility. At least Taylor will never tell. Six wipes later, and I have tar on my hands as well. At least my son's anatomy is clean. Taylor nods to the sink, and I leave them to wash my hands.

"It's a dress," I say, as Taylor fastens the Velcro on a fresh diaper. I have no idea what happened to the dirty one.

"A sleeper, sir."

"My son isn't wearing a dress," I insist. I'm all for gender equality, but the line must be drawn somewhere.

"Newborns like to curl their legs into themselves, and the design makes changings easier."

I dig into the bag. To my horror, the other options are variations of the same. I groan. "It's a fucking dress."

"But a blue one, at least."

I sigh. "Whatever."

Taylor hands me the… dress. I groan again, inwardly, holding it between my thumb and forefinger. "What the fuck do I do with it?"

"Here." Taylor takes it from me and stretches it open, then hands it back. I'm still lost. He must sense this, as he lifts my son and turns him. I slip the… _dress_… awkwardly over his head.

"You aren't going to hurt him, sir. Babies are rather resilient."

I'm not sure if this makes me feel better, but perhaps, reduces the potential awkwardness. I pull the bottom down. Now Theodore's arms are lost in a sea of blue fabric.

"Gather the sleeve," Taylor instructs, poking his fingers through the opening and drawing out a tiny fist. The sleeve is a bit long, and he rolls it back. I attempt to copy the technique, but my fingers are lost as well… until I feel tiny fingers grasp mine. Theodore's little fist clings to me, and I'm able to draw it out of the sleeve.

"Nicely done, sir."

I'm so glad none of my female family members are watching. I'd never live this down. No, this is between Taylor and I. He lifts and cradles my son in the crook of his arm, and his little feet kick out under the fabric. I still say it looks like a dress… and I wonder if the movement is anything like what Ana felt from the inside.

"Your shirt, sir?"

_Right_. I dig through Ana's suitcase, and there at the bottom are a few shirts. I pull out a long-sleeved black tee and discard the soiled one.

Taylor returns Theodore to my arms. "That's a fine boy you have. Anything else, sir?"

I shake my head, and he turns to resume his post outside the door.

"Taylor?" I call.

"Sir?"

I swallow. "Thank you." It's as much a plea to keep this between us as it is a genuine expression of gratitude.

"Anytime, sir."

I return to the rocker by Ana's bed.

Theodore squirms against my chest. He doesn't protest, not really. It's such a foreign sensation, this little bundle in my arms, but I wouldn't trade it for anything. I only hope that when he's older, he'll still desire this closeness. I'm beginning to crave it. I lower my face to the fine, downy dark hair and inhale his baby scent. It's intoxicating.

"Hi," Ana's weak voice breaks through the silence.

My eyes draw upward to her. My beautiful wife. The mother of my child. Her eyes are shadowed, she's beyond exhausted… but she's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. My heart swells with adoration. "Hi yourself," I say, rising from the rocker and slipping onto the edge of the bed. Theodore's head is turned in her direction, and she reaches out, her fingers making contact with his back. They share a moment. "How are you feeling?" I ask.

"Tired, sore." Her tongue comes out to lick her lips. "Thirsty."

I reach over her to the bedside table where a pitcher of water waits, pouring into a cup and holding it up to her mouth. All without jostling my son… our son. I could be good at this.

Ana drinks deeply, and then releases the straw. "Thank you," she murmurs.

"What else can I do?"

She shakes her head, her lips curling into a tired smile. "How is he?"

"He's perfect." And he truly is. I'm floored by his perfection… ten tiny fingers and toes, flawless skin, rounded nose, wide, intelligent eyes. Perfection. Just like his mother. Her fingers return to his back. "Do you want to hold him?" I'd rather not release him just yet, but she's worked so hard for this, for him… I couldn't deny her.

She shakes her head. "Looks like you've got it covered. 'Sides, I'll just fall asleep again."

"That's all right. Just rest, baby. You've earned that and more." I turn Theodore around a bit so Ana can see him better. Her fingers reach out to brush his cheeks, his little nose, his lips. "Did you dress him?"

I nod. "Well, Taylor helped a little."

"Taylor?" she giggles weakly. _Oh, how I love that sound._

"I also fed him, changed his diaper and helped bathe him," I say proudly.

"Did you, now?" She says, impressed.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like to hold him?"

She shakes her head again. "I held him for nine months. It's your turn, and besides, you look like you're doing just fine, Daddy."

The word is a jolt to my heart, the realization spreading through me. I'm a dad. A father. I have a son. No matter how many times I say it, or hear it, I feel as though I'm grasping the concept for the first time. If someone had told me just one year ago today that I'd be a father in such a short time, or ever, and that I'd welcome it, I'd have balked violently. But here I am, holding the most precious human being in my arms, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I'd do anything for him.

I'd die for him. Without a second thought.

"Christian?"

I shake off my musings. "Yes, baby?"

"What were you thinking about?" she murmurs.

I sigh. "Everything." My hand finds hers, and I bring it to my lips. "I love you, Anastasia."

She smiles. "Love you too."

**AN: A friend of mine had a baby this week, and so this idea came swirling into my head… **_**more than**__**a bit insistently**_**,**_** dammit**_**… until I finally did something about it. No, I don't plan to add more chapters… sorry. And yes, some details of post-natal care may have been adjusted or skipped altogether… for those of you with the experience, please suspend your disbelief. As always, your reviews are appreciated.**


End file.
